


Breathtaking

by Kitacular



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Anal, BDSM, If you find plot you're a better person than I am, M/M, Pain, Porn, Prompt Fill, Punching, Rope Bondage, Rough Body Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:08:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24221092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitacular/pseuds/Kitacular
Summary: Athos wants to learn how to take a punch and has a rather unusual idea of how to learn. Aramis and Porthos are happy to help.Received a prompt via email that I fell in love with - Copied at the end of the work
Relationships: Aramis | René d'Herblay/Athos | Comte de la Fère/Porthos du Vallon, Aramis | René d'Herblay/Porthos du Vallon
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	Breathtaking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thewritingbuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewritingbuff/gifts).



“Aramis. May I borrow your Porthos tomorrow?” Athos asked.

Both Porthos and Aramis looked up from their food at Athos who was gently touching his freshly sharpened blade against his glove.

“What you wanna do?” Porthos asked around his mouthful of bread.

Aramis glanced affectionately at Porthos and then raised his eyebrows at Athos.

“What do you need him for?” he asked softly, continuing to clean his pistol.

Athos smiled, replaced his sword in his belt and sat on the table beside Aramis' cleaning cloth.

“I was assisting Deblois today with some of the younger men and he beat me to within an inch of my life just in demonstrations,” Athos answered.

“Make yourself useful if you want to play with my toys,” Aramis teased, passing Athos his powder box.

“You want me to train you to fight again?” Porthos asked, mopping up the last of his thin stew with the extra heel of bread he'd managed to snag from Serge.

Athos was frowning as he began to fill Aramis' carefully crafted paper packages with the gunpowder he needed ready at a moment's notice. Most men carried their powder in a small tin but Aramis had pre-prepared sachets.

“Is that it, Athos?” Aramis asked.

“Not quite,” Athos said, carefully sealing the paper and placing it in Aramis' box. He looked up and smiled at Aramis. “I was getting winded too easily.”

“Ahh,” Aramis answered, understanding.

“What?” Porthos asked.

“You've seen Athos in a fight, Porthos. What would you say the thing he needs improving is?”

Athos continued with his task, passing Porthos one when he held his hand out.

“Takes too long to recover when his opponent lands a punch or kick,” Porthos said thoughtfully. “I'm not doing anything now,” he offered.

“I'm sore,” Athos said, dismissively.

“And wanting to mix business with pleasure?” Aramis suggested.

“I'm not sure what you're implying,” Athos answered, smirking from under his hat.

Nerves were building in Athos' stomach as his wrists were tied, a short length of rope between them. He'd asked for this. That was new. Coming to them for pain and control for desire, not need. He'd come to them for sex but not for this.

Sure, he'd dressed it up as a training exercise and that wasn't entirely untrue but he wanted more than that. The itch had been building but it wasn't coming from a dark place today... Just a craving.

Aramis had already stripped Athos to his cotton underwear only. Porthos was topless, too, but his boots were making a soft clumping noise as he paced like a predator out the corner of Athos' eye.

“Up,” Aramis said quietly and Athos complied, lifting his bound wrists.

Athos looked up to watch as the short length of rope was looped over the sconce on the wall and then he swallowed nervously as Aramis' clever fingers amended the knots to shorten the length. He knew why. There was now not enough slack in the rope for Athos to flick it over the sconce and free himself.

The nerves built, his mouth was dry, butterflies were fluttering in his stomach, his heart beating against his ribs. Athos desperately sought Aramis' eyes, suddenly unable to accept what was coming but unable to vocalise. He wasn't ready to completely surrender. He needed to pretend still.

There was a long long moment of uncomfortable silence as Athos began to dance uncomfortably but Aramis was already ahead of him.

“If you won't talk when we ask you nicely,” he said in a voice with all the coiled power of a snake. “My friend here will have to ask some questions.”

Athos gave a shuddering sigh, slipping into the familiar role with ease.

“Don't think I'll give up just because some hulking idiot asks me,” he said, lifting his chin in defiance.

Aramis' eyes sparkled with malice, the joy of the game lighting up inside him.

“He can't talk,” Aramis said, his voice softening. He trailed the backs of his fingers against Athos' cheek and smirked as he pulled sharply away. “He asks far more physically.”

Athos squirmed where he was pinned against the wall, fidgeting to keep his face away from Aramis' stroking fingers, which had now turned to cradle Athos' jaw.

“Get off of me,” he growled.

“So eager to meet my friend?”

“Just to get away from you,” Athos spat.

He ground his teeth in frustration as Aramis brought his other hand up to hold the other side of Athos' face as well.

“That just isn't going to happen, I'm afraid,” Aramis murmured softly. He was turning Athos' head this way and that, examining his face.

Athos felt a new kind of butterflies and squirmed uncomfortably. He felt like a worm on a hook, just being toyed with by a fisherman before being thrown into the water where hungry fish wait.

For the first time, there was a sexual charge in the room, even during the pain and control part. This was new and different. Previously there had always been a clear, defining line between Aramis and Porthos hurting him to beat down the negativity and them enjoying each other sexually as a purely positive experience. This blurring them was strange and while there was an element of great uncertainty, Athos felt a certain fluttering in his abdomen that was no longer just nerves.

“Even after my friend has finished... You'll come back to me,” Aramis continued, his voice becoming slightly sing-song. “All trussed up, ready for me, waiting for me, maybe even more ready to be one of my friends yourself.”

Athos swallowed hard, confused by the arousal whirling through him. He felt a strange sense of anticipation, excitement, helplessness and, with Aramis so close with Porthos still pacing out of the corner of his eye, most definitely fear.

“Never,” he whispered hoarsely.

Aramis gave Athos' cheek a heavy pat, bordering on a slap, and smirked.

“We'll see.”

Porthos' normally friendly face was feral as his eyes raked up and down Athos' body. Aramis felt a thrill of pride as he watched Porthos draw closer. There was only man in the world Athos would trust to punch him without harming him and that man belonged to Aramis.

Athos' eyes kept flicking from Porthos to Aramis and the marksman smirked again, knowing Athos recognised where the actual danger was. He felt that thrill of control tingling on his skin, that heady mix of love and devotion combined with a genuine desire to cause pain.

It was Aramis' eyes Athos were on when the first blow landed and he smiled wider.

Athos' eyes snapped back to Porthos as the impact registered. There was little to no pain but Athos felt himself panting already. There wasn't even a throb where Porthos' fist has landed on his thigh. He glanced at Aramis as Porthos drew his arm back but looked down in time to see his fist land again slightly to the left.

Porthos stared intently at the thigh muscle before him. No expression of pain but for the face already Athos was beginning to dance slightly. It wasn't because he was in pain. It was because he knew he was going to be. Porthos let a little more strength into his arm this time and Athos' breath whooshed out in surprise as it landed. He looked up to see Athos shaking his head wildly, eyes screwed closed. A quick glance to Aramis and Porthos received a small nod of assent to continue. Porthos licked his lips and turned his eyes to the other thigh.

Athos was already losing his normal tight control on his expressions. It was normally a source of pride how long he could remain stoic, before he gave in. Something about the naked violence was unsettling him faster. He grunted as Porthos' fist landed in the same spot for the third time. Was it the genuine pleasurable expression Aramis was wearing in the face of his pain? Was it the sexual charge in the atmosphere? A fourth punch left the spot throbbing and Athos picked his foot up to flex his thigh. Was he just seeing Porthos in the right light for the first time?

Suddenly, meeting Porthos' eyes was the most important thing to Athos. He was such a gentle soul and such a light hearted person that seeing those thick bands of muscle aimed at himself for the first time was unnerving. Even in the yard when wrestling, it was with a sense of levity. Not today. Today he was raw power and muscle and Athos knew, like he'd never known before, Porthos could dismantle him with very little effort.

He let out a soft oath as another blow landed in the same spot, the throbbing not fading quickly this time. A sixth landed and Athos swore again but before he could draw breath a hard, hard blow landed on his other thigh. The hardest yet. Athos shifted his weight slightly, trying to ease the two sides but before he could settle, Porthos had punched him again, in a new spot, harder still. Athos dropped his head to his chest and watched Porthos' fists in motion.

Blow after blow started to rain, left then right, left then right, left then right. Porthos was like a perfect metronome. His pace, his power. It was never quite the same place on each thigh but his speed never wavered. Athos grit his teeth and began to count silently. He was only aware he was holding his breath when he reached 20 and had to exhale in a rush.

There was a flash of movement in his peripheral vision and Porthos stopped immediately.

Athos lifted his chin from where it rested against his chest to watch Aramis stalking over to them. He was dancing from foot to foot, the pain suddenly seeming to register in full now the blows had stopped. Without his choosing, Athos felt his body almost shrink away from Aramis who had stepped uncomfortably close. So close Athos couldn't see around him.

“Hello,” Aramis breathed.

Athos swallowed, trying to shake out one leg but each time he did, the cotton of his braies brushed against the leather of Aramis' leather breeches and it felt uncomfortably intimate.

“Do you like my friend?” Aramis asked in a whisper.

When Athos didn't answer, Aramis stroked his fingers against the bound man's thigh and Athos suddenly felt weak at the knees.

“Legs hurting, pretty boy?” he asked and Athos felt a wave of humiliation at the condescending nickname. “Let's see what we can do about that.”

Aramis shifted to the side, revealing Porthos stood directly behind him. Athos was breathing hard through his nose and Aramis wasn't even halfway done, yet. He watched as his Porthos landed a few measuring testing punches to the soft belly of Athos. It was not as muscled as Porthos' or as lean as Aramis', which was perfect for this exercise. Porthos was refusing to meet Athos' eyes and that left Athos searching wildly around the room or, inevitably, watching Aramis instead.

He knew his genuine desire for pain was on his face, his cruelty. Aramis just continued to stare at Athos, refusing to look away for a second. Porthos must be ramping up the pressure because Athos was struggling to control his breathing, shaking and panting both between and during the blows.

Porthos was tracing a careful path across Athos' midsection. He was moving back forth across the soft space beneath his ribs and up and down each side of his waist. His range of motion expanded, landing harder blows into the meat of Athos' chest. When he felt Athos beginning to hyperventilate, he stopped, taking a single pace back.

Aramis slid wordlessly into the space and Porthos gripped the fingers extended back towards him. Not for a second would Aramis leave him alone. He watched over Aramis' shoulder as Athos stood, mesmerised and panting heavily, staring dazedly at Aramis' face.

“Hello pretty,” Aramis murmured softly, fingers of the hand not holding Porthos', cradling Athos' face.

Athos pulled his face out of Aramis' grip and Porthos let go so Aramis could cradle his whole face.

“You're breathing very fast,” Aramis noted.

Athos trembled and the shift of his body meant he was still struggling with the throbbing in his legs.

“Accept you're going to be hit,” Aramis hummed. “My friend is going to hit you. It's going to hurt. Accept it and stop letting it effect your breathing.”

Porthos stepped forwards the second Aramis had moved and didn't even hesitate before immediately resuming his regular, beating, rhythmic, repetitive assault, returning to his target of Athos' thighs. He planted his weight and let his torso swing as his fists landed. Porthos knew he was frowning as he concentrated. He was having to think a moment ahead, mentally placing the blow on the left, even as his fist fell on the right. It was harder with the cotton underwear in the way and Porthos was unable to spread his blows to the sides of his legs. Athos was taking every blow on the front of his thighs and was definitely going to feel this tomorrow.

Athos was trying hard to keep breathing but his legs were throbbing and felt unable to support his weight. The blows wouldn't stop. No matter whether he held his breath, panted or took great shuddering gulps of air. They didn't stop. Porthos didn't stop. Aramis wouldn't stop looking at him. The two of them were unstoppable.

An unexpected shriek of pain and frustration burst from his own lips but Porthos barely paused. Blow after blow, pain after pain, throb after throb. It was unbearable.

“Ar-Ar-Aramis,” he gasped.

Porthos didn't stop. Aramis didn't move.

Athos began to count the blows and began to breathe with them. In on the left. Out on the right. In on the left. Out on the right. Just as he figured this out, they stopped.

By the time Athos got his eyes open, Aramis was filling his vision again.

“Don't cheat, pretty,” Aramis said softly. “You need to give in. You can't control the pain, can't control the blows.” Aramis rested one palm against Athos' cloth-clad thigh. “ They're a fact of your life, a fact of the situation. You just need to keep breathing.”

His other hand was stretched behind him, clasping Porthos' fingers tightly. Porthos was capable of great violence but wasn't a volatile person. He was not as cruel as Aramis and the pain he caused was often an act of submission to Aramis rather than his own want. An act of submission Aramis greatly enjoyed.

“You don't pant when you fight, don't pant when my Porthos hits you,” Aramis continued.

He took a step to the side, Porthos filling the space again. Aramis had barely cleared the gap when Porthos struck. A hard blow into Athos' belly made his breath rush out and it took three more blows before he managed to catch it. Aramis watched intently as Athos gasped and dragged himself back together between blows and he caught Aramis' eye, who narrowed them in response.

Time seemed to stop then... His Porthos was a beautiful flurry of motion, exacting, careful. All the power to kill but all the control to be so measured. Athos was vulnerable, had let them bind him and opened himself to the pain. The three of them in this silent, violent conversation seemed to hang there.

The moment broke and Athos suddenly began to breathe again. It was slow, deep and regular, just like his normal breathing. He'd done it. Aramis let his face relax a fraction and Athos closed his eyes.

Aramis let Porthos continue and watched Athos absorb the blows. Quick, sudden blows in his lower belly were jolting Athos' body, short, small grunts of pain echoing in the room. His body was curling slightly, curling around the place Porthos was focusing on.

Aramis let him continue for a few more seconds and then silently ghosted forwards, watching him stop as soon as he registered Aramis' movement. He stopped beside Porthos and took his hand. Together they waited in silence for Athos to open his eyes.

There was no malice or cruelty in the faces that met Athos when he lifted his chin this time. Aramis and Porthos stood, hand in hand, watching him calmly.

“I managed it,” he said quietly.

“You did,” Aramis said, brightly.

Athos narrowed his eyes. Aramis was too bright and Porthos' grin was too wide.

“That... Thank you... That was...” Athos drifted off, nervously. His anticipation and butterflies and fear and arousal were all back with a vengeance.

“That was for you,” Aramis said, tilting his head.

“And... Now... for you?”

Aramis raised the finger of his free hand and made a circling motion.

Blood pounded in his ears as Athos turned. Turning his back on the pair felt like suicide but he couldn't claim the adrenaline that coursed through him was entirely negative. There was something erotic about it as well, especially when Aramis stepped close behind him, so close the cloth of his shirt was brushing Athos' back.

His arousal was making him pant, this time, not any pain or violence. A dark chuckle from behind him made him realise he'd unconsciously arched his back, making his arse more prominent. Athos immediately straightened, pressing his entire front to the wall and blushed furiously as Aramis chuckled again. Hands slid between his body and the wall, long fingers tugging at the laces on Athos' braies before they finally came loose. Athos inhaled as the cool air hit his throbbing legs and he couldn't stop himself leaning back slightly, seeking Aramis' warmth.

“You're going to need to hold still for this,” Aramis warned him before stepping away.

Athos wrapped both of his hands around the sconce and pressed his head against the wall, taking a deep breath. None of that helped when a meaty fist drove into the flesh of his buttock. His entire body jolted with the blow and Athos was left to twist as much as he could pressed against the wall. Just before he settled another landed on the other side.

These blows were a lot harder, a lot slower and a lot more random. They landed all over his buttocks, the backs of his thighs and even a few on his calves. The hardest were on his buttocks. Porthos didn't feel like he was holding back any more and it hurt badly.

The pain went deep. It throbbed inside him. The pain seemed to start on the inside and grew out towards his skin. Something seemed to wake inside him with this new erotic feeling. He began to want the blows, relish them. Crave them, even. He didn't grunt with pain, he groaned with it. His back had arched again, inviting Porthos' touch and wanting the pain.

Aramis saw the shift, saw the craving. It had never appeared in Athos like this. Despite the increase in violence, Aramis could almost taste the sexual tension. Sweat was beading on the back of Porthos' neck and beginning to form a pool between his shoulder blades. Aramis could almost feel the heated flesh under his fingers, his fingers flexing as he imagined gripping the rounds of his arms, thumbs against the line of his shoulder blades. The line of Athos' body curved from where his hands and head were against the wall to where his back curved to raise his bottom so invitingly.

He waited until Porthos began to slow down and drifted closer, running his hand over Porthos' hip and round to small of his back. After a quick nod from Aramis, Porthos gradually slowed and eventually stopped, leaving Athos a quivering, moaning mess, his sweaty forehead pressed hard against the wall.

“Mi vida,” Aramis breathed.

They turned to face each other and Aramis kissed him deeply.

“Mi sol,” Porthos answered, smiling.

“Missing the bottom?” Aramis asked.

“Surprisingly no.”

“That is surprising,” Aramis said, eyebrows raised.

“I'm yours, Sire. Utterly yours,” Porthos said. “I'm just enjoying being a team today.”

Aramis examined his face with interest but could no sign of discomfort or dishonesty. It was unusual Porthos didn't need to feel on the bottom after being placed on the top.

“Maybe it's because we planned it,” Aramis suggested. “It was a bit of training?”

“I'm not sure, Sire,” Porthos said shrugging.

“No... No act,” Athos said, his voice shaky.

“What was that, Athos?”

“Porthos... There's no need to... reassert his role because he didn't step outside... his real self,” Athos explained.

Porthos was nodding thoughtfully and Aramis smiled.

“That makes sense. Normally you need to be put back in your place but today you never left it,” Aramis said slowly.

Porthos beamed at Aramis and leaned over for a kiss.

“Athos... You normally climb all over us like a sex starved Lothario to stop yourself feeling like our vulnerable prisoner,” he continued. “Today you haven't stepped into a role so are you feeling the need to step out of one?”

Athos shivered at the picture he currently presented and heard himself gasp “No.”

“Turn around,” Aramis whispered and Athos complied.

Two pairs of dark eyes watched him for a moment before turning to each other. Their lips met slowly at first and then the kiss deepened, Aramis inevitably controlling it, Porthos' mouth opening to his lover's will.

He couldn't stop himself tugging at the rope above his head as the familiar, strong hands of his friends roamed across each other's bodies. Aramis' hands roamed restlessly and possessively over the expanse of dark, scarred skin. Porthos' hands were gradually stripping Aramis of his clothes, slowly tugging down his braces, lifting his shirt.

Their lips parted for a moment as Porthos successfully removed the last shirt in the room and immediately met again. Aramis moaned loudly and both of his hands came up to Porthos' hair, tilting his head sideways. Athos watched hungrily as small flashes of light appeared between their lips as Aramis kept the kiss moving constantly while Porthos unlaced garment after garment until their clothes were pooled around their ankles, trapped by their boots.

As Porthos' fingers wrapped around Aramis' soft member, Athos whined and Aramis broke away, laughing gently.

“This way Porthos,” Aramis chuckled and the two of them shuffled the few steps to the side, closer to Athos, who also laughed.

“Very graceful,” Athos smirked and Porthos stuck two fingers up at him.

“I'm not tied up to the wall,” he retorted and Aramis laughed as well.

“Would you like to be?”

“Usually Sire.”

Aramis smiled indulgently at Porthos and then cast an appraising eye over Athos.

“My Porthos has a point, Athos,” he said quietly. “You are, indeed, all tied up.”

Porthos felt a swell of arousal at the tone of voice. This was not Aramis' cruelty voice. This was his bedroom voice.

Aramis shuffled the last couple of steps to Athos, tugging Porthos with him, and gently rested his hand on Athos' member. His other hand was on Porthos. Porthos' hand was on Aramis. Everyone connected by loving hands and warm genitals. Athos squirmed on his hook, arching into Aramis' hand and wishing he could touch his friends and lovers.

“Let me down,” Athos breathed.

“No,” Aramis whispered, leaning in to kiss Athos' throat.

“I want to touch you both,” Athos whispered, leaning his body into Aramis.

Aramis' hands were stroking Athos' skin, pressing against the flesh he knew were still throbbing.

“Porthos is going to be busy fucking me,” Aramis murmured and smiled against Athos' skin when he felt gentle hands immediately begin to massage his buttocks, thumbs stroking between them.

He held a hand out behind him and Porthos dribbled a small amount of oil onto his hand before using more to begin working his first finger into Aramis.

“That feels so good,” Aramis moaned sinfully, lips brushing against Athos' throat.

He used his dry hand to press against the tender muscles of Athos' belly, eliciting gasps of pain. He took Athos' mostly hard member into his other, oiled hand. He began to stroke, slowly, the oil easing the way and bringing him to hardness after only a few moments.

Athos shifted his weight, leaning his groin into Aramis' touch.

“Aramis,” he gasped.

“Athos,” Aramis echoed, though there was no mocking in his tone, just a shadow of the desire in Athos' voice.

“Aramis. Let me down," he repeated.

"No," Aramis replied again, his voice shaking slightly and Athos could guess what Porthos was doing.

"Kiss me," Athos whispered.

Aramis leaned forwards and kissed him. It was a gentle, teasing thing. Athos wanted more. He wanted Aramis to touch him, to claim him, to fuck him. Better yet, he wanted to be let down so he could do those things.

Straining forwards, he groaned in frustration as Aramis pulled away, dropping his head.

Athos looked up to meet Porthos' eyes, which were alive with lust, one hand had moved round to Aramis' chest and the other was clearly fingering him open.

He tugged on the rope again when Aramis tossed his head back, black hair flying, the picture of hedonism. His cock was aching in the air between them, hands clenching and unclenching as he itched to touch, to stroke, to dig his fingers into those black waves.

“Aramis,” he growled.

“Mmm,” Aramis hummed. “His fingers feel so good inside me, Athos. I can't wait to get his cock inside me.”

“Aramis,” Athos repeated.

Aramis only gasped in reply, his body rocking slightly as Porthos began to thrust his fingers. He raised his hands to brace himself, pressing them against the wall either side of Athos' head.

“Please Aramis,” Athos breathed.

Aramis moaned and leaned in, granting Athos' request.

Athos kissed him back, hungrily. All his frustration and arousal, both equally heightened by the bondage, were channelled into the only expression he could make, this kiss.

Porthos had to pause for a moment to watch his lovers kiss. It was like a battle for dominance but one Athos stood no chance of winning. Every time Athos grew a little too assertive, nipping at Aramis' lips, Porthos' Master would draw back, threatening to end it until Athos yielded again. Porthos twisted his two fingers, letting Aramis' muscles grow accustomed to the sensation. There were long minutes of watching the two dominant forces battle until Porthos stretched Aramis further, a third finger entering him. Aramis keened loudly, his back arched, pressing against Porthos' hand.

“Fuck,” Aramis hissed.

His face had dropped and he buried it in Athos' neck.

“Sire?” Porthos asked, pausing uncertainly.

“Don't you dare stop,” Aramis laughed.

Porthos grinned, meeting Athos' eyes, which were also crinkled in an indulgent smile, and obliged, working his fingers further into Aramis.

They were all silent for a few minutes, but for Aramis' filthy moaning, until Porthos withdrew his fingers entirely and pressed the blunt end of his cock against Aramis' entrance.

Aramis managed to straighten up slightly and removed one hand from the wall. He stroked Athos' still oiled length, gathering the moisture. As Porthos pushed in gently, Aramis' mouth fell open in unadulterated pleasure. Shaking, his hand fell to his own length, covering it with the slick oil.

“Boys,” he panted.

Porthos was thrusting into him with small, gentle motions, more oil being added as he moved. Aramis took a half step forwards, Porthos following, until he was able to rub his cock against Athos'.

“Fuck,” Athos hissed.

“That's the idea,” Aramis gasped in reply as Porthos' cock continued to stretch him.

He could feel Athos thrusting against him, seeking the friction he so desperately wanted. It wasn't until Porthos began to thrust in more regularly that Aramis obliged.

With both hands, he took their cocks and began to stroke in time with Porthos' thrusts.

The three of them panted and groaned in unison, the smell of sweat and oil and sex filling the room.

“Sire,” Porthos groaned.

“Not yet, not yet,” Aramis chanted, his sweaty forehead pressed against Athos' shoulder again.

His legs were aching but he was so close, so nearly there. White hot sensation was coiling inside him, seeking a way out. Athos' breathing was harsh in his ear and Aramis could feel his length twitching and jerking in his grasp where the skin was slipping and sliding against his own length.

“Sire,” Porthos repeated, desperation evident.

“My boys,” Aramis moaned and bit into Athos' shoulder as his orgasm finally exploded. “Boys,” he gasped.

Aramis whined with sensation overload but he kept stroking until he felt Athos begin to spend and only then did he whisper his permission to Porthos who thrust so deep into him, Aramis was lifted to his tiptoes.

Porthos' legs, too, were shaking with exertion but he managed to gently lower Aramis to the floor. It took him three attempts but he finally managed to figure out Aramis' knot and release Athos' wrists.

“Bed Porthos,” Aramis whispered.

Porthos groaned, his legs like jelly, but he reached down and pulled Aramis to his feet.

Staggering slightly, the three of them made their way to the bedroom where they collapsed in a pile of limbs onto the bed.

Aramis was giggling while Athos took over the arrangements, curling himself around Porthos' back while he curled around Aramis'.

The three of them were slick, covered in oil, semen and sweat, legs throbbing, for a variety of reasons and the smell of sex was thick in the room. Their skin was growing sticky in the cool air but not one of them could raise enough energy to care and one by one they fell asleep, just as they were.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt received was:
> 
> I have to admit that I have a thing for Porthos/Athos kinky beatings :O If you won't mind, could you write more such delicious fics with Porthos beating Athos with his bare fists?
> 
> As always - Prompts and requests always welcome at kitacularao3 at gmaildotcom :)


End file.
